A: 
A! 

0; 
0; 


HE  SHEPHERD  WHO 
ATCHED  BY  NIGHT 


THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE 


Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 

Los  Angeles 


Form  L  I 


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The  Perfect  Tribute 
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The  Counsel  Assigned 

Maltbie  Davenport  Babcock 
The  Success  of  Defeat 

Katharine  Holland  Brown 
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Looking  Westward 

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Francis  E.  Leupp 

A  Day  with  Father 

Alice  Duer  Miller 
Things 

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The  Stranger's  Pew 
The  Shepherd  Who  Watched 
by  Night 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

A  Christmas  Sermon 
Prayers  Written  at  Vallima 
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Isobel  Strong 

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The  First  Christmas  Tree 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 
WATCHED   BY  NIGHT 


'What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 
WATCHED   BY  NIGHT 


BY 

Thomas  Nelson  Page 


NEW  YORK 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
1916 


29410 


Copyright,  1916,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


Published  September,  1916 


PS 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO  WATCHED 
BY  NIGHT 


The  Shepherd  Who  Watched 
by  Night 

THE  place  had  nothing  distin 
guished  or  even  perhaps  dis 
tinctive  about  it  except  its 
trees  and  the  tapering  spire  of  a 
church  lifting  above  them.  It  was 
not  unlike  a  hundred  other  places 
that  one  sees  as  one  travels  through 
the  country.  It  called  itself  a  town 
but  it  was  hardly  more  than  a  vil 
lage.  One  long  street,  now  paved 
on  both  sides,  climbed  the  hill, 
where  the  old  post-road  used  to 
run  in  from  the  country  on  one  side 
and  out  again  on  the  other,  passing 
a  dingy,  large  house  with  white 
washed  pillars,  formerly  known  as 
[31 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

the  tavern,  but  now  calling  itself 
"The  Inn."  This,  with  two  or  three 
built-up  cross  streets  and  a  short 
street  or  two  on  either  side  of  the 
main  street,  constituted  "the  town." 
A  number  of  good  houses,  and  a 
few  very  good  indeed,  sat  back  in 
yards  dignified  by  fine  trees.  Three 
or  four  churches  stood  on  corners, 
as  far  apart  apparently  as  possible. 
Several  of  them  were  much  newer 
and  fresher  painted  than  the  one 
with  the  spire  and  cross;  but  this 
was  the  only  old  one  and  was  gen 
erally  spoken  of  as  "The  Church," 
as  the  rector  was  meant  when  the 
people  spoke  of  "The  Preacher." 
It  sat  back  from  the  street,  and 
near  it,  yet  more  retired,  was  an 
old  dwelling,  also  dilapidated,  with 
a  wide  porch,  much  decayed,  and 
[4] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

an  out-building  or  two  to  the  side 
and  a  little  behind  it,  one  of  which 
was  also  occupied  as  a  dwelling. 
The  former  was  the  rectory  and  the 
smaller  dwelling  was  where  the  old 
woman  lived  who  took  care  of  the 
rectory,  cleaned  up  the  two  rooms 
which  the  rector  used  since  his  wife's 
death,  and  furnished  him  his  meals. 
It  had  begun  only  as  a  temporary 
arrangement,  but  it  had  seemed  to 
work  well  enough  and  had  gone  on 
now  for  years  and  no  one  thought 
of  changing  it.  If  an  idea  of  change 
ever  entered  the  mind  of  any  one, 
it  was  only  when  the  old  woman's 
grumbling  floated  out  into  the  town 
as  to  the  tramps  who  would  come 
and  whom  the  preacher  would  try 
to  take  care  of.  Then,  indeed,  dis 
cussion  would  take  place  as  to  the 
[51 


THE  SHEPHERD   WHO 

utter  impracticability  of  the  old 
preacher  and  the  possibility  of  get 
ting  a  younger  and  liver  man  in  his 
place.  For  the  rest  of  the  time  the 
people  were  hopeless.  The  old 
preacher  was  past  his  prime;  no  one 
else  wanted  him,  and  they  could 
not  turn  him  out.  He  was  saddled 
on  them  for  life.  They  ran  simply  by 
the  old  propulsion;  but  the  church 
was  going  down,  they  said,  and 
they  were  helpless.  This  had  been 
the  case  for  years.  And  now  as  the 
year  neared  its  close  it  was  the 
same. 

Such  was  the  talk  as  they  finished 
dressing  the  church  for  Christmas 
and  made  their  way  homeward,  the 
few  who  still  took  interest  enough 
to  help  in  this  way.  They  felt  sorry 
for  the  old  man,  who  had  been 
[6] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

much  in  their  way  during  the  dress 
ing,  but  sorrier  for  themselves.  This 
had  been  a  few  days  before  Christ 
mas  and  now  it  was  Christmas  eve. 
The  old  rector  sat  at  his  table  try 
ing  to  write  his  Christmas  sermon. 
He  was  hopelessly  behindhand  with 
it.  The  table  was  drawn  up  close  to 
the  worn  stove,  but  the  little  bare 
room  was  cold,  and  now  and  then 
the  old  man  blew  on  his  fingers  to 
warm  them,  and  pushed  his  feet 
closer  to  the  black  hearth.  Again 
and  again  he  took  up  his  pen  as  if 
to  write,  and  as  often  laid  it  down 
again.  The  weather  was  bitter  and 
the  coal  would  not  burn.  There  was 
little  to  burn.  Before  him  on  the 
table,  amid  a  litter  of  other  books 
and  papers,  lay  a  worn  bible  and 
prayer-book — open,  and  beside  them 
[7] 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

a  folded  letter  on  which  his  eye  often 
rested.  Outside,  the  wind  roared, 
shaking  the  doors,  rattling  the  win 
dows,  and  whistling  at  the  key 
holes.  Now  and  then  the  sound  of 
a  passing  vehicle  was  borne  in  on 
the  wind,  and  at  intervals  came  the 
voices  of  boys  shouting  to  each 
other  as  they  ran  by.  The  old  man 
did  not  hear  the  former,  but  when 
the  boys  shouted  he  listened  till 
they  had  ceased  and  his  thoughts 
turned  to  the  past  and  to  the  two 
boys  whom  God  had  given  him  and 
had  then  taken  back  to  Himself. 
His  gray  face  wore  a  look  of  deep 
concern,  and,  indeed,  of  dejection, 
and  his  eye  wandered  once  more  to 
the  folded  letter  on  the  table.  It 
was  signed  "A  Friend,"  and  it  was 
this  which  was  responsible  for  the 
[8] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

unwritten  Christmas  sermon.  It  was 
what  the  world  calls  an  anonymous 
letter  and,  though  couched  in  kindly 
terms,  it  had  struck  a  dagger  into 
the  old  man's  heart.  And  yet  he 
could  not  but  say  that  in  tone  and 
manner  it  was  a  kind  act.  Certainly 
it  had  told  the  truth  and,  if  in  tear 
ing  a  veil  from  his  eyes  it  had 
stunned  him,  why  should  he  not 
face  the  truth ! 

He  took  up  the  letter  again  and 
reread  it,  not  that  he  needed  to 
read  it,  for  he  knew  it  by  heart. 

He  reread  it  hoping  to  find  some 
answer  to  its  plain,  blunt,  true 
statements,  but  he  found  none.  It 
was  all  true,  every  word,  from  the 
ominous  beginning  which  stated  that 
the  writer  felt  that  he  had  "a  clear 
duty  to  perform,"  down  to  the  close 
19] 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

when  with  a  protestation  of  good 
will  he  signed  himself  the  old  man's 
"friend." 

"You  must  see,  unless  you  are 
blind,"  ran  the  letter,  "that  your 
church  is  running  down,  and  unless 
you  get  out  and  let  the  congrega 
tion  secure  a  new  and  younger  man, 
there  will  soon  be  no  congregation 
at  all  left.  No  men  come  to  church 
any  longer  and  many  women  who 
used  to  come  now  stay  away.  You 
are  a  good  man,  but  you  are  a  fail 
ure.  Your  usefulness  is  past." 

Yes,  it  was  true,  he  was  a  failure. 
His  usefulness  was  past.  This  was 
the  reason  no  Christmas  things  had 
come  this  year — they  wanted  to  let 
him  know.  It  pained  him  to  think 
it,  and  he  sighed. 

"You    spend    your    time    fooling 

[10] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

about  a  lot  of  useless  things,  visit 
ing  people  who  do  not  come  to 
church,  and  you  have  turned  the 
rectory  into  a  harbor  for  tramps," 
continued  the  anonymous  friend. 

"You  cannot  preach  any  longer. 
You  are  hopelessly  behind  the  times. 
People  nowadays  want  no  more  doc 
trinal  points  discussed;  they  want 
to  hear  live,  up-to-date,  practical 
discourses  on  the  vital  problems  of 

the  day — such  as  the  Rev.  Dr. 

delivers.  His  church  is  full."  This 
also  was  true.  He  was  no  longer 
able  to  preach.  He  had  felt  some 
thing  of  this  himself.  Now  it  came 
home  to  him  like  a  blow  on  the 
head,  and  a  deeper  pain  was  the 
conviction  which,  long  hovering 
about  his  heart,  now  settled  and 
took  definite  shape,  that  he  ought 
[11] 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

to  get  out.  But  where  could  he  go? 
He  would  have  gone  long  since  if 
he  had  known  where  to  go.  He  could 
not  go  out  and  graze  like  an  old 
horse  on  the  roadside.  There  was 
no  provision  made  for  those  like 
him.  No  pensions  were  provided  by 
his  church  for  old  and  disabled 
clergymen,  and  the  suggestion  made 
in  the  letter  had  no  foundation  in 
his  case.  It  ran,  "You  must  or,  at 
least,  you  should  have  saved  some 
thing  in  all  this  time." 

This  sounded  almost  humorous, 
and  a  wintry  little  smile  flickered 
for  a  moment  about  the  old  man's 
wrinkled  mouth.  His  salary  had 
never  been  a  thousand  dollars,  and 
there  were  so  many  to  give  to.  Of 
late,  it  had  been  less  than  two- 
thirds  of  this  amount  and  not  all 

[12] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

of  this  had  been  paid.  The  smile 
died  out  and  the  old  man's  face 
grew  grave  again  as  he  tried  to 
figure  out  what  he  could  do.  He 
thought  of  one  or  two  old  friends 
to  whom  he  could  write.  Possibly, 
they  might  know  of  some  country 
parish  that  would  be  willing  to  take 
him,  though  it  was  a  forlorn  hope. 
If  he  could  but  hold  on  till  they  in 
vited  him,  it  would  be  easier,  for 
he  knew  how  difficult  it  was  for  a 
clergyman  out  of  a  place  to  get  a 
call.  People  were  so  suspicious.  Once 
out,  he  was  lost. 

At  the  thought,  a  picture  of  a 
little  plot  amid  the  trees  in  the 
small  cemetery  on  the  hill  near  the 
town  slipped  into  his  mind.  Three 
little  slabs  stood  there  above  three 
mounds,  one  longer  than  the  others. 

[13] 


THE   SHEPHERD   WHO 

They  covered  all  that  was  mortal 
of  what  he  had  loved  best  on  earth. 
The  old  man  sighed  and  his  face  in 
the  dim  light  took  on  an  expres 
sion  very  far  away.  He  drifted  off 
into  a  reverie.  Ah,  if  they  had  only 
been  left  to  him,  the  two  boys  that 
God  had  sent  him  and  had  then 
taken  back  to  Himself,  and  the  good 
wife  who  had  borne  up  so  bravely 
till  she  had  sunk  by  the  wayside ! 
If  he  were  only  with  them !  He 
used  to  be  rebellious  at  the  neglect 
that  left  the  drains  so  deadly,  but 
that  was  gone  now.  He  leant  for 
ward  on  his  elbows  and  gradually 
slipped  slowly  to  his  knees.  He  was 
on  them  a  long  time,  and  when  he 
tried  to  rise  he  was  quite  stiff;  but 
his  face  had  grown  tranquil.  He  had 
been  in  high  converse  with  the 
[14] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

blessed  of  God  and  his  mind  had 
cleared.  He  had  placed  everything 
in  God's  hands,  and  He  had  given 
him  light.  He  would  wait  until  after 
Christmas  and  then  he  would  re 
sign.  But  he  would  announce  it 
next  day.  The  flock  there  should 
have  a  new  and  younger  and  abler 
shepherd.  This  would  be  glad  tid 
ings  to  them. 

He  folded  up  the  letter  and  put  it 
away.  He  no  longer  felt  wounded  by 
it.  It  was  of  God's  ordaining  and 
was  to  be  received  as  a  kindness,  a 
ray  of  light  to  show  him  the  path 
of  duty.  He  drew  his  paper  toward 
him  and,  taking  up  his  pen,  began 
to  write  rapidly  and  firmly.  The 
doubt  was  gone,  the  way  was  clear. 
His  text  had  come  to  his  mind. 

"And  there  were  in  the  same  coun- 

[15] 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

try,  shepherds  abiding  in  the  field, 
keeping  watch  over  their  flock  by 
night.  And,  lo,  the  angel  of  the  Lord 
came  upon  them,  and  the  glory  of 
the  Lord  shone  round  about  them: 
and  they  were  sore  afraid.  And  the 
angel  said  unto  them,  Fear  not:  for 
behold,  I  bring  unto  you  good  tid 
ings  of  great  joy,  which  shall  be  to 
all  people.  For  unto  you  is  born 
this  day  in  the  City  of  David  a 
Saviour  which  is  Christ  the  Lord. 
And  this  shall  be  a  sign  unto  you; 
Ye  shall  find  the  Babe  wrapped  in 
swaddling  clothes  lying  in  a  man- 
ger." 

Unfolding  the  story,  he  told  of  the 
darkness  that  had  settled  over  Isra 
el  under  the  Roman  sway  and  the 
formalism  of  the  Jewish  hierarchy 
at  the  time  of  Christ's  coming,  draw- 

[16] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

ing  from  it  the  lesson  that  God  still 
had  shepherds  watching  over  His 
flocks  in  the  night  to  whom  He 
vouchsafed  to  send  His  heavenly 
messengers.  On  and  on  he  wrote, 
picturing  the  divine  mission  of  the 
Redeemer  and  His  power  to  save 
souls,  and  dwelling  on  Christmas 
as  the  ever-recurrent  reminder  of 
"the  tender  mercy  of  our  God 
whereby  the  Day  Spring  from  on 
High  hath  visited  us." 

Suddenly  he  came  to  a  pause. 
Something  troubled  him.  It  flashed 
over  him  that  he  had  heard  that  a 
woman  in  the  town  was  very  sick 
and  he  had  intended  going  to  see 
her.  She  had  had  a  bad  reputation; 
but  he  had  heard  that  she  had  re 
formed.  At  any  rate  she  was  ill. 
He  paused  and  deliberated.  At  the 
[17] 


moment  the  wind  rattled  the  shut 
ters.  She  did  not  belong  to  his  flock 
or,  so  far  as  he  knew,  to  any  flock, 
and  once  when  he  had  stopped  her 
on  the  street  and  spoken  to  her  of 
her  evil  life,  she  had  insulted  him. 

He  turned  back  to  his  paper,  pen 
in  hand;  but  it  was  borne  in  on  him 
that  he  was  writing  of  watching 
over  the  flock  by  night  and  here  he 
was  neglecting  one  of  his  Father's 
sheep.  He  laid  aside  his  pen  and, 
rising,  took  down  his  old  overcoat 
and  hat  and  stick,  lit  his  lantern, 
turned  down  his  lamp,  and  shuffling 
through  the  bare,  narrow  passage, 
let  himself  out  at  the  door. 

As  he  came  out  on  to  the  little 
porch  to  step  down  to  the  walk,  the 
wind  struck  him  fiercely  and  he  had 
some  difficulty  in  fastening  the  door 

[18] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

with  its  loose  lock;  but  this  done  he 
pushed  forward.  The  black  trees 
swayed  and  creaked  above  him  in 
the  high  night  wind,  and  fine  par 
ticles  of  snow  stung  his  withered 
cheeks.  He  wondered  if  the  shep 
herds  in  the  fields  ever  had  such  a 
night  as  this  for  their  watch.  He 
remembered  to  have  read  that  snow 
fell  on  the  mountains  of  Judaea. 

At  length  he  reached  the  little 
house  on  a  back  street  where  he 
had  heard  the  sick  woman  lived.  A 
light  glimmered  dimly  in  an  upper 
window  and  his  knocking  finally 
brought  to  the  door  a  woman  who 
looked  after  her.  She  was  not  in  a 
good  humor  at  being  disturbed  at 
that  hour,  for  her  rest  had  been 
much  broken  of  late;  but  she  was 
civil  and  invited  him  in. 

[19] 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

In  answer  to  his  question  of  how 
her  patient  was,  she  replied  gloom 
ily:  "No  better;  the  doctor  says  she 
can't  last  much  longer.  Do  you  want 
to  see  her?"  she  added  presently. 

The  old  rector  said  he  did,  and  she 
waved  toward  the  stair.  "You  can 
walk  up." 

As  they  climbed  the  stair  she  added : 
"She  said  you'd  come  if  you  knew." 
The  words  made  the  old  man  warmer. 
And  when  she  opened  the  door  of 
the  sick  room  and  said,  "Here's  the 
preacher,  as  you  said,"  the  faint 
voice  of  the  invalid  murmuring,  "I 
hoped  you'd  come,"  made  him  feel 
yet  warmer. 

He  was  still  of  some  use  even  in 
this  parish. 

Whatever  her  face  had  been  in  the 
past,  illness  and  suffering  had  re- 

[20] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

fined  it.  He  stayed  there  long,  for 
he  found  that  she  needed  him.  She 
unburdened  herself  to  him.  She  was 
sorry  she  had  been  rude  to  him  that 
time.  She  had  been  a  sinful  woman. 
She  said  she  had  tried  of  late  to  live 
a  good  life,  since  that  day  he  had 
spoken  to  her,  but  she  now  found 
that  she  had  not.  She  had  wanted 
to  be  a  believer  and  she  had  gone 
to  hear  him  preach  one  day  after 
that,  but  now  she  did  not  seem  to 
believe  anything.  She  wanted  to  re 
pent,  but  she  could  not  feel.  She 
was  in  the  dark,  and  she  feared  she 
was  lost. 

The  old  man  had  taken  his  seat  by 
her  side,  and  he  now  held  her  hand 
and  soothed  her  tenderly. 

"Once,  perhaps,"  he  said  doubt 
fully,  "though  God  only  knows  that, 

[211 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

but  certainly  no  longer.  Christ  died 
for  you.  You  say  you  wanted  to 
change,  that  you  tried  to  ask  God's 
pardon  and  to  live  a  better  life 
even  before  you  fell  ill.  Do  you 
think  you  could  want  this  as  much 
as  God  wanted  it?  He  put  the  wish 
into  your  heart.  Do  you  think  He 
would  now  let  you  remain  lost? 
Why,  He  sent  His  Son  into  the 
world  to  seek  and  to  save  the  lost. 
He  has  sent  me  to  you  to-night  to 
tell  you  that  He  has  come  to  save 
you.  It  is  not  you  that  can  save 
yourself,  but  He,  and  if  you  feel 
that  it  is  dark  about  you,  never  mind 
— the  path  is  still  there.  One  of  the 
old  Fathers  has  said  that  God  some 
times  puts  His  children  to  sleep  in 
the  dark.  He  not  only  forgave  the 
Magdalen  for  her  love  of  Him,  but 

[22] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

He  vouchsafed  to  her  the  first  sight 
of  his  face  after  His  resurrection." 

"I  see,"  she  said  simply. 

A  little  later  she  dozed  off,  but 
presently  roused  up  again.  A  bell 
was  ringing  somewhere  in  the  dis 
tance.  It  was  the  ushering  in  of  the 
Christmas  morn. 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked  feebly. 

He  told  her. 

"I  think  if  I  were  well,  if  I  could 
ever  be  good  enough,  I  should  like 
to  join  the  church,"  she  said.  "I  re 
member  being  baptized — long  ago." 

:'You  have  joined  it,"  he  replied. 

Just  then  the  nurse  brought  her  a 
glass. 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked  feebly. 

"A  little  wine."  She  held  up  a 
bottle  in  which  a  small  quantity 
remained. 

[23] 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

It  seemed  to  the  old  preacher  a 
sort  of  answer  to  his  thought.  "Have 
you  bread  here?"  he  asked  the 
young  woman.  She  went  out  and  a 
moment  later  brought  him  a  piece 
of  bread. 

He  had  often  administered  the 
early  communion  on  Christmas 
morning,  but  never  remembered  a 
celebration  that  had  seemed  to  him 
so  real  and  satisfying.  As  he  thought 
of  the  saints  departed  this  life  in 
the  faith  and  fear  of  the  Lord,  they 
appeared  to  throng  about  him  as 
never  before,  and  among  them  were 
the  faces  he  had  known  and  loved 
best  on  earth. 

It  was  toward  morning  when  he 
left.  As  he  bade  her  good-by  he 
knew  he  should  see  her  no  more 
this  side  of  heaven. 

F241 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

As  he  came  out  into  the  night  the 
snow  was  falling  softly,  but  the 
wind  had  died  down  and  he  no 
longer  felt  cold.  The  street  was 
empty,  but  he  no  longer  felt  lonely. 
He  seemed  to  have  got  nearer  to 
God's  throne. 

Suddenly,  as  he  neared  his  house, 
a  sound  fell  on  his  ears.  He  stopped 
short  and  listened.  Could  he  have 
been  mistaken?  Could  that  have 
been  a  baby's  cry  ?  There  was  no 
dwelling  near  but  his  own,  and  on 
that  side  only  the  old  and  unoccu 
pied  stable  in  the  yard  whence  the 
sound  had  seemed  to  come.  A  glance 
at  it  showed  that  it  was  dark  and 
he  was  moving  on  again  to  the  house 
when  the  sound  was  repeated.  This 
time  there  was  no  doubt  of  it.  A 
baby's  wail  came  clear  on  the  silence 

[25] 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

of  the  night  from  the  unused  stable. 
A  thought  that  it  might  be  some 
poor  foundling  flashed  into  his  mind. 
The  old  man  turned  and,  stumbling 
across  the  yard,  went  to  the  door. 

"Who  is  here?"  he  asked  of  the 
dark.  There  was  no  answer,  but  the 
child  wailed  again,  and  he  entered 
the  dark  building,  asking  again, 
"Who  is  here?"  as  he  groped  his 
way  forward.  This  time  a  voice  al 
most  inarticulate  answered.  Holding 
his  dim  little  lantern  above  his  head, 
he  made  his  way  inside,  peering  into 
the  darkness,  and  presently,  in  a 
stall,  on  a  lot  of  old  litter,  he  de 
scried  a  dark  and  shapeless  mass 
from  which  the  sound  came.  Mov 
ing  forward,  he  bent  down,  with  the 
lantern  held  low,  and  the  dark  mass 
gradually  took  shape  as  a  woman's 

[26] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

form  seated  on  the  straw.  A  patch 
of  white,  from  which  a  pair  of  eyes 
gazed  up  at  him,  became  a  face,  and 
below,  a  small  bundle  clasped  to  her 
breast  took  on  the  lines  of  a  babe. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he 
asked,  breathless  with  astonishment. 
She  shook  her  head  wearily,  and  her 
lips  moved  as  if  to  say:  "I  didn't 
mean  any  harm."  But  no  sound 
came.  She  only  tried  to  fold  the 
babe  more  warmly  in  her  shawl. 
He  took  off  his  overcoat  and  wrapped 
it  around  her.  "Come,"  he  said 
firmly.  "You  must  come  with  me," 
he  added  kindly;  then,  as  she  did 
not  rise,  he  put  out  his  hand  to  lift 
her,  but,  instead,  suddenly  set  down 
the  lantern  and  took  the  babe  gently 
in  his  arms.  She  let  him  take  the 
child,  and  rose  slowly,  her  eyes  still 

[27] 


on  him.  He  motioned  for  her  to  take 
the  lantern  and  she  did  so.  And  they 
came  to  the  door.  He  turned  up  the 
walk,  the  babe  in  his  arms,  and  she 
going  before  him  with  the  lantern. 
The  ground  was  softly  carpeted  with 
snow;  the  wind  had  died  down,  but 
the  clouds  had  disappeared  and  the 
trees  were  all  white,  softly  gleaming, 
like  dream-trees  in  a  dreamland. 
The  old  man  shivered  slightly,  but 
not  now  with  cold.  He  felt  as  if  he 
had  gone  back  and  held  once  more 
in  his  arms  one  of  those  babes  he 
had  given  back  to  God.  He  thought 
of  the  shepherds  who  watched  by 
night  on  the  Judsean  hills.  "It  must 
have  been  such  a  night  as  this," 
he  thought,  as  his  eyes  caught  the 
morning  star,  which  appeared  to 
rest  just  over  his  home. 

[28] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

When  they  reached  his  door  he  saw 
that  some  one  had  been  there  in  his 
absence.  A  large  box  stood  on  the 
little  porch  and  beside  it  a  basket 
filled  with  things.  So  he  had  not 
been  forgotten  after  all.  The  milk 
man  also  had  called,  and  for  his 
customary  small  bottle  of  milk  had 
left  one  of  double  the  usual  size. 
When  he  let  himself  in  at  the  door, 
he  took  the  milk  with  him.  So  the 
shepherds  might  have  done,  he 
thought. 

It  was  long  before  he  could  get  the 
fire  to  burn;  but  in  time  this  was 
done;  the  room  was  warm  and  the 
milk  was  warmed  also.  The  baby 
was  quieted  and  was  soon  asleep  in 
its  mother's  lap,  where  she  sat,  still 
hooded,  before  the  stove.  And  as 
the  firelight  fell  from  the  open  stove 

[29] 


THE  SHEPHERD   WHO 

on  the  child,  in  its  mother's  arms, 
the  old  man  thought  of  a  little  pic 
ture  he  had  once  seen  in  a  shop 
window.  He  had  wanted  to  buy  it, 
but  he  had  never  felt  that  he  could 
gratify  such  a  taste.  There  were  too 
many  calls  on  him.  Then,  as  the 
young  woman  appeared  overcome 
with  fatigue,  the  old  man  put  her 
with  the  child  in  the  only  bed  in 
the  house  that  was  ready  for  an 
occupant  and,  returning  to  the  little 
living-room,  ensconced  himself  in 
his  arm-chair  by  the  stove.  He  had 
meant  to  finish  his  sermon,  but  he 
was  conscious  for  the  first  time  that 
he  was  very  tired;  but  he  was  also 
very  happy.  When  he  awoke  he 
found  that  it  was  quite  late.  He  had 
overslept  and  though  his  breakfast 
had  been  set  out  for  him,  he  had 

[30] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

time  only  to  make  his  toilet  and  to 
go  to  church.  The  mother  and  child 
were  still  asleep  in  his  room,  the 
babe  folded  in  her  arm,  and  he 
stopped  only  to  gaze  on  them  a 
moment  and  to  set  the  rest  of  the 
milk  and  his  breakfast  where  the 
young  mother  could  find  it  on  awak 
ing.  Then  he  went  to  church,  tak 
ing  his  half-finished  sermon  in  his 
worn  case.  He  thought  with  some 
dismay  that  it  was  unfinished,  but 
the  memory  of  the  poor  woman 
and  the  midnight  communion,  and 
of  the  young  mother  and  her  babe, 
comforted  him;  so  he  plodded  on 
bravely.  When  he  reached  the  church 
it  was  nearly  full.  He  had  not  had 
such  a  congregation  in  a  long  time. 
And  they  were  all  cheerful  and 
happy.  The  pang  he  had  had  as  he 

[31] 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

remembered  that  he  was  to  an 
nounce  his  resignation  that  day  was 
renewed,  but  only  for  a  second. 
The  thought  of  the  babe  and  its 
mother,  warmed  and  fed  in  his  lit 
tle  home,  drove  it  away.  And  soon 
he  began  the  service. 

He  had  never  had  such  a  service. 
It  all  appeared  to  him  to  have  a 
new  meaning.  He  felt  nearer  to  the 
people  in  the  pews  than  he  ever  re 
membered  to  have  felt.  They  were 
more  than  ever  his  flock  and  he 
more  than  ever  their  shepherd. 
More,  he  felt  nearer  to  mankind, 
and  yet  more  near  to  those  who 
had  gone  before — the  innumerable 
company  of  the  redeemed.  They 
were  all  about  him,  clad  all  in  white, 
glistening  like  the  sun.  The  heavens 
seemed  full  of  them.  When  he  turned 

[32] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

his  eyes  to  the  window,  the  whole 
earth  seemed  white  with  them.  The 
singing  sounded  in  his  ears  like  the 
choiring  of  angels.  He  was  now  in  a 
maze.  He  forgot  the  notice  he  had 
meant  to  give  and  went  straight 
into  his  sermon,  stumbling  a  little 
as  he  climbed  the  steps  to  the  pul 
pit.  He  repeated  the  text  and  kept 
straight  on.  He  told  the  story  of 
the  shepherds  in  the  fields  watching 
their  flocks  when  the  Angel  of  the 
Lord  came  upon  them  and  told  of 
the  Babe  in  the  manger  who  was 
Christ  the  Lord.  He  spoke  for  the 
shepherds.  He  pictured  the  shep 
herds  watching  through  the  night 
and  made  a  plea  for  their  loneliness 
and  the  hardship  of  their  lives. 
They  were  very  poor  and  ignorant. 
But  they  had  to  watch  the  flock 

[33] 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

and  God  had  chosen  them  to  be  His 
messengers.  The  wise  men  would 
come  later,  but  now  it  was  the  shep 
herds  who  first  knew  of  the  birth 
of  Christ  the  Lord.  He  was  not 
reading  as  was  his  wont.  It  was  all 
out  of  his  heart  and  the  eyes  of  all 
seemed  to  be  on  him — of  all  in  pews 
and  of  all  that  innumerable  white- 
clad  host  about  him. 

He  was  not  altogether  coherent, 
for  he  at  times  appeared  to  confuse 
himself  with  the  shepherds.  He  spoke 
as  if  the  message  had  come  to  him, 
and  after  a  while  he  talked  of  some 
experiences  he  had  had  in  finding  a 
child  in  a  stable.  He  spoke  as  though 
he  had  really  seen  it.  "And  now," 
he  said,  "this  old  shepherd  must 
leave  his  flock,  the  message  has 
come  for  him." 

[34] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

He  paused  and  looked  down  at  his 
sermon  and  turned  the  leaves  slowly, 
at  first  carefully  and  then  almost 
aimlessly.  A  breath  of  wind  blew  in 
and  a  few  leaves  slid  off  the  desk 
and  fluttered  down  to  the  floor. 

"I  have  been  in  some  fear  lately," 
he  said,  "but  God  has  appeared  to 
make  the  way  plain.  A  friend  has 
helped  me,  and  I  thank  him."  He 
looked  around  and  lost  himself.  "I 
seem  to  have  come  to  the  end,"  he 
said,  smiling  simply  with  a  soft, 
childish  expression  stealing  over  and 
lighting  up  his  wan  face.  "I  had 
something  more  I  wanted  to  say, 
but  I  can't  find  it  and — I  can't  re 
member.  I  seem  too  tired  to  re 
member  it.  I  am  a  very  old  man 
and  you  must  bear  with  me,  please, 
while  I  try."  He  quietly  turned  and 

[35] 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

walked  down  the  steps,  holding  on 
to  the  railing. 

As  he  stooped  to  pick  up  a  loose 
sheet  from  the  floor,  he  sank  to  his 
knees,  but  he  picked  it  up.  "Here  it 
is,"  he  said  with  a  tone  of  relief.  "I 
remember  now.  It  is  that  there  were 
shepherds  abiding  in  the  fields,  keep 
ing  watch  over  their  flocks  by  night, 
and  the  light  came  upon  them  and 
the  glory  of  the  Lord  shone  round 
about  them  and  they  were  sore 
afraid,  and  the  angel  said  unto  them: 
'Fear  not,  for  behold,  I  bring  unto 
you  good  tidings  of  great  joy  which 
shall  be  unto  all  people;  for  unto  you 
is  born  this  day  in  the  city  of  David 
a  Saviour  which  is  Christ  the  Lord.' ' 

They  reached  him  as  he  sank  down 
and,  lifting  him,  placed  him  on  a 

[36] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

cushion  taken  from  a  pew.  He  was 
babbling  softly  of  a  babe  in  a  stable 
and  of  the  glory  of  the  Lord  that 
shone  round  about  them.  "Don't 
you  hear  them  singing?"  he  said. 
"You  must  sing  too;  we  must  all 
join  them." 

At  the  suggestion  of  some  one,  a 
woman's  clear  voice  struck  up, 

"While  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by 
night," 

and  they  sang  it  through  as  well 
as  they  could  for  sobbing.  But  be 
fore  the  hymn  was  ended  the  old 
shepherd  had  joined  the  heavenly 
choir  and  had  gone  away  up  into 
heaven. 

As  they  laid  him  in  the  little  cham 
ber  on  the  hill  opening  to  the  sun 
rise,  the  look  on  his  face  showed 

[37] 


THE  SHEPHERD  WHO 

that  the  name  of  that  chamber  was 
Peace. 

They  talk  of  him  still  in  his  old 
parish — of  the  good  he  did,  and  of 
his  peaceful  death  on  the  day  that 
of  all  the  year  signified  Birth  and 
Life. 

Nothing  was  ever  known  of  the 
mother  and  babe.  Only  there  was  a 
rumor  that  one  had  been  seen  leav 
ing  the  house  during  the  morning 
and  passing  out  into  the  white-clad 
country.  And  at  the  little  inn  in  the 
town  there  was  vague  wonder  what 
had  become  of  the  woman  and  her 
baby  who  had  applied  for  shelter 
there  the  night  before  and  had  been 
told  that  there  was  no  place  for  her 
there,  and  that  she  had  better  go 
to  the  old  preacher,  as  he  took  in 

[38] 


WATCHED  BY  NIGHT 

all  the  tramps.  But  in  heaven  it  is 
known  that  there  was  that  Christ 
mas  eve  a  shepherd  who  kept  watch 
over  his  flock  by  night. 


[39] 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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